


In Which Dirk Strider Tries And Mostly Fails To Contain His Internal Dialogue, As Usual

by LandOfMistAndSecrets



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Awkward Conversations, M/M, im mad the ending didn't have dialogue so here's a bunch of words, victory platform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6588883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/pseuds/LandOfMistAndSecrets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk POV. Victory platform conversations post-Collide, pre-Act 7. Focusing on the Striders, Alphas and basically Dirk's direct relationships because when I started writing this his was the voice that decided to emerge from the rabble, victorious. Thanks, Dirk. (Thirk.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Dirk Strider Tries And Mostly Fails To Contain His Internal Dialogue, As Usual

Dirk Strider is no stranger to dying, and by extension no stranger to subsequent resurrection, but this is some next level shit. 

At first, he can't think at all. The shock of renewed existence overtakes everything, and when sensation returns at first it's just warmth. Light. Light, he soon realizes, that is radiating out of him, out of his actual body, because Jane is standing over him and literally zapping it into him like one of Roxy's own wizards. Which is a ridiculous thought. Jane doesn't have a beard, let alone the long flowing truly wizardly type shit Roxy is into, she'd be so disappointed. Dirk opens his mouth to spout off some no doubt truly inane shit in that general vein, but -- thank God -- Jane talks first. 

"Good morning, idiot," she greets him, smiling all fond and gap-toothed and holy shit, Dirk realizes, blinking up at her, an actual _pang_ running through him, that he's missed her so much. 

"Morning," he mumbles, staring up. Whatever he's laying on, it's cold against his back. Jane offers a hand and he takes it, sitting up. "That's... a lot of beige," he says, stupidly, what a truly fine substitute for _I'm so glad you're here. I've missed you. I was worried. Did you just bring me back to life like a fucking wizard?_

She just laughs. He's pretty sure it's a better response than he deserves. 

"It's the price you pay for being able to bring your friends back to life," she says, confirming that much, at least. "I'd ask you how you managed to lose your head _again,_ but honestly? I don't want to know. You and Dave --" her eyes flicker to the left, over Dirk's shoulder, and he feels his stomach drop straight into his feet. Oh, fuck. Dave. "-- You can just keep that one. Strider secrets! Now please never do that again, I can't bring you back twice." 

Dirk wants to say something reassuring, glib without being dismissive -- she's trying to diffuse the situation and doing a remarkable job, really. Her voice is only wavering slightly, and her too-pale, washed out complexion could be because she's freaked out by having to literally reattach his head to his shoulders, or it could just be the weird light in this place, sure. 

But, Dave. Jesus Christ. 

There's a hand on his shoulder, now, and Dirk knows exactly who it is, and also that he has no idea what to say.

"I'd take her advice if I were you," Dave says, lightly, and Dirk twists to look up at him, still sitting on the cold ground in his poofy asshole pants, still not sure his legs are going to take his weight if he tries to get up. Dave is smiling, but Dirk can't see his eyes, and having his own bullshit shades-shield technique turned back on him is possibly the most disconcerting thing he's ever had to deal with. Which is saying a lot because Jane just brought his ass back from the decapitation station, ticket punched twice, or however that worked, he never actually experienced a fucking subway in any real way. He's seen photos, though. And fantasized good and long about riding around New York City with -- with -- Dave squeezes his shoulder. Mercifully, it halts his inner dialogue long enough for Dirk to swallow and croak out some actual words. 

"You know that's not actually the first time that's happened?" he says, and he still can't see Dave's eyes, sure, but he can see his eye _brows_ and the way they shoot up is almost as good. "The first time I did it myself, though." 

"Sounds intense," Dave says. His eyebrows are approaching his hairline. 

"Yeah," Dirk swallows again. "Pretty much. At least this time no one had to kiss me." 

Jane makes a choking noise; Dirk winces. 

"Thank God," she says. "No thanks. No offense, Dirk, but we probably all would have waited for the expert to get back for _that._ " 

Dirk's stomach clenches; he's pretty sure it's a peace offering -- Jane has never spoken easily about him and Jake, and any attempt to do so has to be meant kindly. But it's a sore spot. Of course it is. The thought of putting Jake into the wildly unenviable position of having to kiss him back to life _again_ sort of makes him want to throw up all over the weirdly cold, flat, metallic thing he's sitting on. 

Instead of saying any of that -- fuck that -- he forces out a laugh. No one comments on how fake it is. He's grateful for that. 

Things probably would have gotten more awkward from there, but before they can, Roxy lets out a great whooping holler from across the -- platform? -- and rushes in to save the day. Typical Roxy. Thank God for Roxy. Dirk feels Dave release his shoulder, hears him take a startled step back, and then she's crashing into him, hooking her arms unceremoniously under his poofy, princely pits and actually lifting him bodily to his feet. He hesitates, just for a moment, because of fucking course he does. Dirk Strider has never met an affectionate moment he didn't enter into without thinking a litany along the lines of _but what if this is just for show, what if this is just what she thinks she has to do, she can't actually be this glad to see me, why would she be?_

"Dirk! Holy shit!" she breathes in his ear, too loud and so Roxy, and fuck, Dirk thinks, I love her. He wraps his arms around her. "Holy shit," Roxy says again, and she's doing her level best to actually crush him but he doesn't really mind. So long as his lungs don't work he doesn't have to breathe and so long as he can't breathe he can't be held accountable for not speaking. What the fuck does he even say? "All in one piece and everything! Janey you're a frickken _genius,_ how does she do it? Fucking _magic_ , that's how." She releases him, takes a step back. The weight of her gaze is paralyzing, though she probably doesn't intend for it to be. She reaches blindly to her side and forcibly yanks Jane against her by the arm, and then she does the same to Dirk. She's laughing. It's a little crazed. It's crushingly sincere, and apparently catching, because Jane gives in a second later, her giggles punctuated by little snorts. It's so Jane. He wants to join them so bad. 

"Roxy," he says instead, and he hates the way his voice sounds, like he's trembling right on the edge of losing his cool completely, which is true, but not something anyone needs to bear witness to, now or ever. "Fuck," he adds, all eloquence. Someone snorts behind him. Was that Dave? Fuck, Dave. He needs to talk to him. He needs to talk about what he made Dave do. He needs to apologize for being a general fuck up in every way, putting himself in so many stupid, impulsive, idiotic positions, forcing Dave and Terezi to save his worthless ass over and over and _over_ , culminating in possibly the greatest fuck up of all time that didn't involve Jake, and maybe even then -- 

"Holy _shit_ Dirk you look like you need to take a dump," Roxy informs him, grinning in his face. "Face all scrunched up and squinty-eyed and hella not attractive, FYI." Dirk can feel her breathing on his face. It's strangely comforting. Also, awkward. "You know we fuckin' _won,_ right?" 

"Yeah," he says, studying her face. Her mask is stupid. He loves it. "That mask... fucking incredible." She explodes with laughter and hugs him again. 

"Pinnacle of fashion," she agrees. 

"Hard to be a proper teen-hero-god-whatever without a dramatic mask," he says. Something that doesn't feel completely shitty is worming its way around his middle and as much as he thinks he doesn't deserve it, it's nice. "As usual, Roxy Lalonde is the only one who gets this shit right." 

"Damn straight," she grins. "Never thought I'd wear this piece again, actually. Left it all tied up around a katana, _en memoriam,_ it was meaningful as shit. Especially when I ended the batterwitch with it. That was the most meaningfulest shit of all _time._ " 

"You... _ended_ the batterwitch, huh?"

"Stabbed her right through her cold black fishy-witchy heart," Roxy's grin has taken on a fierce lilt, eyebrows pulled down, eyes flashing a little manic. Dirk feels lighter than he has since Jane zapped him back to life. "It was epic as _shit_ and I wish you could have seen it." She pauses, her triumphant, shining expression dimming just a flicker. "She was your fish hitler, too." 

Dirk laughs. Actually laughs, this time, crushing her against him, shoulders shaking. "I'm glad it was you," he says, truthfully. 

Roxy lets this go on for a few heartbeats longer, then wiggles out of his grasp, one eyebrow crooked, lips pursed in a knowing smirk. "That's not to say you weren't there in spirit, hey? Pretty sure this is yours." And then she's reaching behind her and decaptchaloguing a katana, _his_ katana, and he blinks. "Or at least, some version of yours? Hell if I know. All your splinter stuff, shit's hard to follow, yeah?" She shakes her head and continues. "Heard you needed a new one, what with some misfortunate tragedy befalling the original -- if original is even the right word to use, who even knows? Either way I didn't even know that was _possible?_ Unbreakable, my ass." She rolls her eyes. She's still holding Dirk's own sword out for him to take, one which is apparently whole and was instrumental in murdering the hell out of the fucking _batterwitch._

Dirk makes no move to take it. Roxy fixes him with a quizzical expression. 

"Dirk? Hello, I'm giving you a priceless artifact, here? You'd better take care of it, too, I'm all weirdly sentimental of it, now, what with --" 

"Roxy." 

"Yeah?" She blinks. 

"Keep it." 

"But--" 

"The fight's over. Right? And you did better by it than I ever could. It's yours." 

She bites her lip, looking unsure. It's a strange look on her, totally wrong. 

"If you're sure," she says, uncharacteristically soft.

"I'll tell you what. If we're ever in a situation where I absolutely need to use a sword again, like life or death shit, I'll gladly borrow it off you." 

She grins. That's better. Much more Roxy. 

"Deal," she says, holding out a hand. They shake on it. Her expression has gone all fierce again, and Dirk's tongue goes back to feeling too heavy to operate. But this is important. He takes a breath. 

"I'm glad you're all right," he says, which is almost what he wanted to say, but not quite. She squeezes his hand. He tries again. "I --" he falters. Her eyebrows go up. He studies the floor and tries again. "I don't know what the everloving _fuck_ I would have done if you hadn't come back." That's a little better, but still not quite there.

"Had a _hells_ of bitchin' fucken funeral, I hope," she says. Dirk chokes out a laugh, hears Jane make a strangled noise behind her. 

"Most definitely," Dirk says, solemnly. "It's the least we could do." Fuck, she's offered a distraction, and fuck if Dirk Strider can resist an emotional offramp when he sees one. "It would have been all like, somber and shit. Full of speeches. Tears everywhere. Pretty sure we'd have all actually drowned." 

"Dirk," Roxy says, hands on her hips, head tilted. "You know I love you, right? And not in the, you know --" she stops for a second to swallow. "That shitty inconsiderate way I was always all up in your grill about --" 

"Yeah," Dirk says, and he actually runs a hand through his fucking hair like some enormous douchepuddle who can't handle his shit. He lets his hand drop. "I love you, too." 

There. It's said. It hangs there between them. She's smiling, and he's pretty sure that he is, too. Jane claps her hands beside them, and Dirk and Roxy turn to her together. Neither one of them is cool enough to keep maintaining eye contact after that, so the distraction is kind of a relief. Thank God for Jane. 

"We love you too, Janey," Roxy says. 

"Totally," Dirk agrees, then winces. Shit. That sounded sarcastic. It wasn't. "I mean -- seriously," he blunders on. "It's just a ... a straight up fucking lovefest, in here." Oh god. Did he just say that? "I--" 

"I know," Jane cuts him off with a wave. "No need to strangle yourself with your own tongue or anything! I know how much sincerity actually hurts you, so..." 

That hurts, a bit, but Dirk reflects that he probably deserves it and lets it be. Still have things to work out with Jane, he thinks. Got it. No surprise there. 

Then Roxy is letting out another little _whoop_ , seizing both his and Jane's shoulders and turning them bodily to face a few floating pinpricks of color in the distance. Someone else approaching. Roxy jabs a finger a few times, all excitement -- and a few others emerge from somewhere previously out of line of sight to join her. Jane's ( _Jake's_ ) teen grandpa, Dirk thinks, and another impressive-looking troll in a skirt, and -- and the blonde girl with the familiar face who he's pretty sure is his actual biological daughter. Rose. He meets her eyes. She smirks, and it's so perfect he wants to laugh. She's a Strider, all right. And a Lalonde. Strilonde? Sure. He wants to talk to her, but now is apparently not the time, because there's what feels like an ocean of people between there and here and she's turning away to greet the new arrivals first, anyway. Probably for the best.

"It's Jade," Jake's ( _Jane's_ ) teen grandpa gasps. "Jade! Heeeey, Jade!" He's waving so strenuously that for a moment Dirk is afraid he's going to tumble himself right off the platform -- not that it would matter, he can fly. Right. He's waving both arms, now, and he and Roxy are making such a ruckus of whoops and shouts and whatnot, all Dirk can think to do is step back and leave them to it. He doesn't really know Jade, but he does know that Jake would probably kill to see her. The thought makes his heart hurt, and more than that, sends a pang of worry thrumming through him, winding him up tight. Where the fuck _is_ Jake?

A tap on his shoulder brings him around. 

"So, that was nice," Dave says, and of all the things in the world Dirk could possibly do in response he decides to blush. Actually blush, god dammit. Of course Dave would see him being an idiot in front of Roxy. Why not. "All sweet and reunion-y and so on." 

"Yeah," Dirk says. He's been saying that a lot. The word is a crutch, he should really strike it from his vocabulary. But then what would he say? Uh? Huh? Right. "Sorry." 

"Hey, don't apologize. It was nice. Really. I --" He falters for a second, and Dirk still can't see his eyes, but Dave's head moves just a fraction toward the crowd that is honest-to-god jumping up and down, now, welcoming Jade and someone else, someone she's carrying with her. "I've been looking forward to something like that myself." 

"John and Jade, right?" Dirk shrugs in their direction. "You're missing a hot opportunity, over there." 

Dave laughs. "Yeah. I should really..." A furrow burrows its way between his eyes. "Hey. I just want to make sure, you and I, you know... no hard feelings?" 

Dirk blinks. His mind blanks, for a second. 

"No? Sorry, what?" 

"I mean, maybe I could have done something else, I don't know. It was a split second sort of decision, I wasn't even sure I could do it, but I thought, it seemed like, maybe, you were giving me permission? That's how I read that, and --" 

"Holy shit, hold on," Dirk holds up a hand. His eyes are wide behind his shades and he's just as grateful for them as he is frustrated with Dave's. God damn. He's worried about this? Guilt and relief wash through him in equal intensity, because if Dave is worried that he did something wrong maybe he isn't blaming him, yet. 

"What?" Dave's voice is small, barely audible over the country fucking celebration happening ten feet to the right. 

"That wasn't your fault. If anything, it was mine. That wasn't my best showing, all around, and I shouldn't have let that thing get the drop on me that way. Sloppy as fuck. You bailed us all out, man. You're a --" Dirk's mind skips like a broken record. Dave doesn't like being called a hero. Because of him. Well, some version of him. Close enough. He course corrects. "You're a badass motherfucker," he finishes, a little breathless. Dave's cheeks are blotchy red; he runs a hand through his hair in a gesture Dirk knows all too well. "I'm not sure I could have done that, in your shoes, if it had been you. No way." 

"Thanks," Dave says, softly. "So -- you're okay. _We're_ okay." 

"Hell yes," Dirk does his best to make that statement as emphatic as possible. Some of the tension drains out of Dave's posture. 

"Cool," Dave nods, once. "Can I hug you again." 

"Oh," Dirk blinks. "Oh, uh, yeah. Sure." 

Dave flings himself at him, nearly knocking them both to the ground. Thank God everyone is so busy over there they probably aren't watching this. What? What a shitty thing, Dirk thinks, for your first thought to be while your brother is trying to conduct a heartfelt moment. Who fucking cares if they're watching. Jesus fuck. This is all he ever wanted, if he's being honest, how many times growing up did he imagine this exact thing, his brother being with him, in person, in the physical flesh? Holding him, generally just -- giving a fuck? Even if the circumstances are a little fucked up. Who cares. 

Dave steps back, clears his throat, and Dirk mentally kicks himself a little more for sailing right through that entire moment drowning in his own panicked dialogue. What else is new. 

"Thanks," he says again. 

"No problem," Dirk replies. 

There's a beat of silence, not uncomfortable, but not _not_ , either, because they are Striders and silence is the enemy. 

"I should probably..." Dave is staring at his friends, again, who appear to be caught up in all kinds of heartful and possible tearful embraces. John and Jade, who Dirk knows are Dave's best friends, he must be dying to see them, and a strange little green figure being held of all things between Roxy and Jane. Dirk figures that's a mystery he should probably solve sooner than later; anyone that important to them probably deserves to be important to him, too. 

"Go say hi," Dirk suggests, a series of words which sounded much less lame in his head. 

"Yeah..." Dave says, and that wrinkle between his brows is back in full force. "Where the _fuck_ is Karkat?" 

The sentiment is so near to his own concerning Jake that Dirk can't help but let out a startled little bark of laughter. Dave frowns. "I know," Dirk says, holding up a hand. "I'm sort of in a similar position? Kind of. At least -- you and he are still on good terms. And such." 

"Yeah, but Jake can fly his own damn self back from wherever he is," Dave reminds him, and then he's sucking in a breath, cheeks comically puffed for just a second. He exhales noisily. "I'm gonna go ask some hard questions. Also --" he falters. "Probably say hi to Jade, or something." 

"Ask her about the cat lips?" Dirk smiles. 

"Oh, god," Dave is shaking his head, vehemently. It's a wonder his shades don't fly off. "Fuck you, fuck no, no way." Then he's off, muttering things Dirk can't hear and probably shouldn't try very hard to make out. A man's self-mutterings are sacred. 

This leaves Dirk strangely bereft, watching him go. Jade seems to see him approach, perking up over John's shoulder when she notices. 

"Dave!" she shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear, disentangling one hand from John's absolutely ludicrous hood to wave enthusiastically. "I have a present for you!" 

Dave stops halfway across the platform, and Dirk can see his head tilt even from his vantage point squarely in the back. 

"You do?" His voice sounds faint. 

"You'll never _guess_ who I ran into on LOFAF!" She giggles, actually straight up giggles. It's kind of adorable, Dirk decides, heart squeezing again as he thinks once again that _Jake_ should be here for this, Jake should be seeing this. Jake would kill to have this moment.

"Uh," Dave says. Jade disentangles herself from John's embrace, face full of mischief. There is an awkward amount of space between Dave and his best friends, and Dirk feels a little twinge of sympathy, watching this unfold. 

"I have to say, he's just as loud in person as I always imagined he'd be," Jade is grinning, still, like she knows a truly choice secret, which Dirk supposes she actually does. "And kind of weirdly adorable? Who would have ever _thought._ " She's closing the gap between her and Dave, and John's face suddenly lights up, and he's floating after her, hovering over her, his silly little windsock dancing around behind him. 

"Was it _Karkat?_ " John asks, and Jade swipes a hand over her head, slapping at him, missing. 

"Shush!" 

John laughs, hovering a little higher, safely out of reach. 

"Wait -- Jade. Is he all right? Where is he?" Dave is babbling, now, and Jade has him by the shoulders. She hugs him, but Dave still won't shut up, and Dirk winces again in sympathy. He knows that feel, so to speak. "Did you just actually leave him alone on LOFAF, what the fuck is wrong with you? He can't fly --" 

"Wow, Dave, nice to see you again, too!" Jade pats his back, soothingly. Dave pats her back, Dirk thinks; he can't quite see from this angle. 

"Sorry," he breathes. "Sorry, I'm -- of course it's nice to see you, Jade, what the fuck. I missed the hell out of you, you know that." 

John makes an "aww" sort of noise, in a way that Dirk is pretty sure is supposed to be both teasing _and_ genuine, and Dave holds one hand up smoothly to flip him off in elegant, truly heartfelt fashion. 

"Thanks for the note," Jade says, quieter. "I missed you, too." 

Dirk looks away, feeling fairly certain he shouldn't be intruding on this moment. But he can still hear them, of course. 

"Yeah, you know... there wasn't much room, paper-wise, so I couldn't fit the heartfelt sonnets I was all busy composing the entire time you were out, but --" 

"Sonnets!" Jade exclaims. Her voice is full of laughter. 

"Uh --" 

"Maybe I should hold him hostage until you deliver!" Jade teases. 

"Oh, god." 

"Just kidding," she says, and then there's this _flash_ , burning green against the back of Dirk's eyelids, and he can't help but turn back around to witness this because seriously what the fuck was that? 

"Jesus FUCK," a strangled, raspy voice exclaims, which Dirk quickly determines is coming from a wholly new troll now standing on the platform. Jade is laughing in apparent rapturous fucking delight. "Jade I swear to _God_ , as much as I probably deserved that, you might have just _maybe_ warned me that when you said you'd be 'coming back,' what you actually meant was 'by the way, I'm going to use my combined fucking magic barkbeast green sun space powers to literally zap your atoms across a not insignificant chunk of paradox space --'" 

"Oh you are such a _baby_ ," Jade gasps out between giggles. 

"The correct term," Dave interjects, and he's already starting forward, not quite running but not quite _not_ , "is _wiggler,_ Jade, and thank you, I've been saying that for literal years." 

"Dave," Karkat, because that's who this must be, says uncertainly, his volume suddenly significantly lower. Dirk grins. He definitely shouldn't be watching this, but everyone else is, so he does too. 

They don't put on much of a show, though, and Dirk thinks he knows why. Their relationship isn't exactly public information, yet -- though Jade certainly seems to know something, from the way she's smirking? He's sure Dave mentioned her specifically, but it's all kind of a blur. Dave slings an arm around his alien boyfriend and John hollers "Hi Karkat!" in their general direction, to which Karkat gives a half-hearted sort of embarrassed wave but it's obvious to _everyone_ , Dirk thinks, that he can't take his eyes off Dave. Not even when the tall troll woman that's been welded to Rose's side this entire time practically drags her over to she can ruffle his hair. 

It's sweet. 

It's making him hells of fucking jealous. 

Where the fuck is Jake?

Oh, shit. 

Dirk meets Rose's eyes for the second time since his wizardly resurrection, and this time she's pointing at him, face full of _intentions._ She takes a step forward. 

Roxy is shouting something. Dirk doesn't pay any attention to that, because his actual biological daughter is walking straight-backed in his direction, and that's the sort of thing that tends to drown everything else out for awhile. She looks a lot like Dave, and by extension, him. And Roxy. Of course she does. She's smirking, again. 

Then his subconscious picks the name "Jake" out of Roxy's energetic shouts and seizes on it, short-circuiting everything for a second. Jake? Where the fuck -- 

There. 

Rose's eyes widen and Dirk feels crushingly, horribly guilty -- that's his _daughter_ , he's almost gotten used to thinking that word even though he'll probably never bring himself to say it out loud, and it's long past time they talked, but Jake is back and there he is, floating toward the platform in his stupid fucking god tier clothes, looking equal parts relieved to see everyone and terrified to join them. Dirk dashes past Rose, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder as he passes by -- did he really just do that? Jesus _fuck._ And then Jake sees him. 

It's sort of gratifying, Dirk thinks, the way Jake's course immediately corrects itself toward him. Maybe it means that Jake isn't, you know, a hundred percent adverse to ever interacting with him again. That would be nice. That would be more than he probably deserves? 

Jake hits the platform, and apparently everyone has noticed that there is a _thing_ happening here, because even Roxy is hanging back when she probably wants to run in and scoop Jake up and have her own little happy reunion. Thanks, Roxy. Love you too. 

"Hey," Dirk says, stupidly. 

"Dirk," Jake grins, an expression which falters as quickly and suddenly as it was birthed. He coughs. "You're... here. Everyone is here! What a show. What a jolly fucking good rolling ruckus of a time?" He glances over his shoulder, coloring. "I was... sort of hoping, that, maybe there would be fewer..." He swallows, makes a vague gesture. 

"Yeah. The party's all here. Being all celebratory and shit. Uh. Glad you could make it." 

These are the first words, Dirk reflects, that he is saying to Jake in the aftermath of whatever the _fuck_ you might call whatever it was that happened previously, and he sort of wants to re-detatch his head and hand it back to Jane with a note stuck on his disembodied forehead that reads "No thanks," because holy shit, he is definitely not worthy of life. 

"...Thanks," Jake says, softly. "I, uh..." 

"We should talk," Dirk says, and there, that's good. That's a generally correct thing to say in this situation, thank fucking God you're capable after all. 

"Oh, yes. Absolutely." Jake fidgets in place, shifting feet, and Dirk vows if he lets his eyes flicker down toward that _stupid_ fucking pair of page pants even one time he _will_ actually kill himself, whether Jake can actually see his eyes move behind his shades or not. It's the fucking principle. "I, uh, have a whole whopping load of things to say, actually!" 

"You do?" 

"I do. Just... maybe..." 

"Not now?" 

Dirk tries to swallow his disappointment. This isn't really the appropriate place or time, he figures. They're about to beat this shitty game, whatever that actually entails -- he sure doesn't know. They only got as far as knowing they needed a whole lot of grist, and also, patience for several other more competent someones to come and rescue them from their dead end session. Turns out they weren't even very good at waiting. It's funny. He wants to laugh but knows Jake will take it completely wrong, so he doesn't. Instead he just stands there and manages to look singularly pathetic, probably. 

"I rather envisioned having the sort of conversation I've been wanting to have in a less, erm, overall crowded room? Well, not room. Platform. Place. Thing." Jake closes his eyes, tightens his jaw. "I'm not putting it off, Dirk, I swear I'm not. Well, I am, but not because --" 

"Wait. Hold on. It's fine." 

"No, it's _not._ Good grappling gravy, I know I made a right humdinger of a hash out of this -- this, us, and, and I _thought_ I could just let it be like any decent person ought to, especially after you were so crystal clear with your _own_ opinion! I thought about that a _lot_ , which was a real challenge because at the time there were cats -- Dirk, there were so many fucking _cats._ " His eyes have gone very wide, and Dirk is pretty sure his mouth is hanging open, which is about the least dignified expression he could probably muster at this juncture but there it is. "And tea. The tea was better than the cats, I think." 

"Jake," Dirk says. 

"No, I'm not done." Jake takes a breath and as promised, continues. "I had just come around to deciding it was best if I kept away from everyone for a bit -- possibly forever?" 

"You --" 

"-- No, shut your incessant trap for just one minute, I'm not done." He pauses. "Sorry." 

Dirk nods, helplessly. It takes all of his self control to prevent himself from saying something. Words are literally piling up behind his lips, it's a verbal massacre, there is carnage and it's all in the form of unspoken apologies. 

"Then that flashy dapper Jack fellow dropped an actual -- erm, frigging heavy container-thing -- nearly directly on my noggin and I think I realized something, while I was giving those villains the old what for?" 

"Did you." 

He narrows his eyes but doesn't scold, again. 

"I realized that I am an impossible ponce who is, probably despite that actual fact, perfectly capable of holding up his end of a bargain when it comes down to brass tacks, you know?" He looks embarrassed, now, his eyes are tracing patterns on the floor. Dirk wants to grab his chin, lift his face, look him in the eyes. Tell him he's proud of whatever he did -- he doesn't even know what the fuck Jake was doing, all this time, thrilling as it sounds. He wants to kiss him. God. The last words he ever spoke to Jake were to break up with him and now he's doing this? Thinking this?

"I... think I follow?" Dirk says, because Jake seems to be expecting a response. Jake exhales, nodding. 

"When I saw Jane rip roaring out of that little window like an actual avenging goddess -- which, I suppose she is, so that's very appropriate -- and I realized she had come to help after all, when she had the least reason to want to do so except perhaps _you,_ " he falters and Dirk suddenly hates himself for not teleporting in to help Jake with whatever the fuck he was actually doing, too. Even though it was impossible. Of course it was. He had his hands full forcing his brother to slice his fucking head off. "When I saw that, it got me thinking that, maybe, everyone didn't -- hate me?" 

"No one hates you, are you serious?" Dirk can't keep the incredulity out, and Jake winces a bit, flinches away. It hurts to watch. 

"I still have a lot to hash out with her, but I -- I saw you first, and I wanted, you and I, maybe, to not be so..." he holds up his hands, drops them, a helpless gesture. "That is, ah. I miss you. A lot. I miss us? Not -- ah, fuck." He deflates. 

"What do you mean," Dirk says, because this is important. He can't even fathom how to respond without knowing the answer. His hands are trembling. Fuck. That's so fucking embarrassing. 

"I would love to say, believe me, but." 

"But?"

"Oh, hell. I've done it, now. I --" He twists around to glance behind him. Dirk doesn't fucking dare. He doesn't want to know who is watching this, who is listening. If he thinks about it too hard he'll turn around and jump off the platform, and fuck flying, he will _fall forever._ "I've just about plumb run out of words." 

"Is it my turn, then?" 

"Al... alright. Sure. Your go." He puffs up, holding his breath. Exhales. "Have at it, then. I can take it." 

"I never hated you, first thing. Don't you think that for a minute." 

Dirk holds his gaze, waiting for an affirmation. This is _important_ , damn it. 

A beat, two, and then Jake nods. Good. 

"If anything I probably held you in too high esteem. And, fuck, that sounds like a backhanded insult, it's not. I just mean that I realize that I expected a lot of you. I thought of you more as an outlet for my own --" He stumbles, fuck, this is hard. Continues, because it's _important._ Repeats that like a bassline as he readies some more words. Important, important, important. "My own ever-present and completely overwhelming emotions." There. "That's not to say I didn't think of you as a person, too, but it was always secondary to the fact that you were my -- my boyfriend? I had this whole trumped up opinion of what that sort of relationship actually entails, and while I'd like to blame a lot of went wrong on my auto-responder, the truth is that I was just as complicit in a lot of the shittier things we did. Manipulating you and monopolizing all of your time. That sort of thing." 

"It would have been nice," Jake says, softly into the beat of silence that follows that admission, "To talk to the real, genuine, actual Dirk Strider a little more often." 

"I know." 

"Though even then I doubt I would have said half the things I should have. I'm a bit of a mess, in case you hadn't noticed, when it comes to saying things I really ought to, even, especially when they aren't ... wholly pleasant or fun or what have you." 

"God knows how I would have responded. Or he would have responded. That was sort of his thing. Responding in my stead." 

Jake looks up, sharply. Oh, fuck. Something about that was wrong, not at all what he wanted to hear. 

"Don't excuse me," he says. "I've done enough of that bollocks busting BS myself since -- since everything, and it does no good for anyone." 

"Alright," Dirk says, because he isn't sure how to process that. 

"Good." 

A beat. 

"Yeah." Fuck, that word again. 

"Right-o," Jake says, and the situation is suddenly so absurd that Dirk _does_ laugh, a rueful sort of chuckle, and after a moment of watching this, mystified, Jake steps toward him. Lifts a hand. Places it on Dirk's shoulder. It's the first time there's been any physical contact between them in what feels like forever and it's like Jake is channeling Jane's wizard shit or something, because a bolt goes right from his palm, warm through Dirk's stupid pajamas, right into his core. "Dirk," he says, staring right through the shades like he can tell exactly where Dirk's eyes are. 

"This was good," Dirk says, softly. Jake still hasn't moved his hand. He's glad for that, but also afraid to move. "Especially considering the audience." 

"Kringle-fucking Christ, Dirk," Jake breathes, shutting his eyes. "Don't remind me of _that._ " 

"Sorry." 

"There's... more, I think. To say. Later?" Jake opens his eyes. "There's going to be a later, right? We won the day, and all of that? Everyone seems to be here..." 

"Yeah. We did. I think they're waiting for... us?" 

"Oh, god." 

"Don't worry about it." 

"They're all staring, aren't they? Aren't they, Dirk?" Jake's eyes are very wide. 

"Probably. I'm not looking," Dirk says, because he's not. He's very carefully keeping his eyes trained on Jake's staring face. Which isn't that difficult, to be honest. 

"Fuck me sideways," Jake mutters, finally dropping his hand back to his side, and Dirk swallows every glib response his brain dredges up for _that_ , which is probably for the best. Strider self-censorship. Rarely effective but so good when it does work, on the odd occasion. Literally saving lives. 

"Later sounds good," Dirk reassures him, carefully. "Let's make it a date." Oh, fuck. Jesus _fuck_ , really? 

Jake snaps his chin up, brow furrowed, and Dirk is just about readying himself to maybe _actually_ take a running dive off the fucking platform after all, but then the clouds all over Jake's bewildered expression break and he's just smiling, a little shy. It's almost enough to break him. 

"Let's not be too hasty," Jake says, gently. 

"Yeah. Sorry. I don't know what I -- sorry." 

"But," he continues, with what Dirk swears is the shadow of a _smirk_ twitching around his lips, "Let's not write off the idea altogether, either." 

"I'll take it," Dirk says, probably a little too fast. He's desperate. Jake probably knows it. Fuck, they have so much more to talk about. So much bullshit to work out. Roxy is going to have a field day with them, and they will deserve every second. 

He thinks of her right then because she is approaching them, carefully, eyebrows raised hopefully in a way that is clearly asking permission to come closer. Dirk waves her in and Jake's eyes widen at the gesture. He turns. Permission secured, Roxy collides with them, looping one arm sloppily around Jake and using her other hand to ruffle his hair. He protests, weakly, but she's infectious and cannot be denied. He gives in, laughing, patting her awkwardly around the shoulders. 

"You boys all right?" She asks, and though she cloaks her tone in a teasing lilt, Dirk knows she is being super fucking serious, right now. 

"We're good," Dirk says, injecting every bit of honesty he's capable of wielding into the words. She waggles her eyebrows at him. He raises one of his own. 

"Just divine," Jake says, muffled against her shoulder. "Peachy, really. Right as rain." 

"I don't know about all _that_ ," Roxy says. "But if you're all done with the heartfelt reunions, I'm told we've got a universe to create or something." 

"What?" Dirk and Jake both ask at the same time, and Roxy laughs, looping her free arm around Dirk and yanking them both toward the fixture at the end of the victory platform that everyone else is already gathered around. 

"It's going to be _hells_ of sexual, I think," Roxy winks at him. "Tadpoles swimming all up into shit and all that." 

"You're shitting me," Dirk says, while Jake makes a strangled noise beside them. 

"One hundred percent _not_ shitting," Roxy's grin is a little manic. "Should be a good show, huh? It's not every day you get to see the birth of a new universe! Bring it in, we have got to bear _witness_ to this bitch." 

Dirk feels a little pang of guilt as they rejoin the others; he's monopolized all of Jake's time, yet _again._ He didn't even get to exchange a word with his teen grandma, and Jane is standing there waiting for them, looking just the slightest bit bereft. Roxy pulls her in, too, and then John is saying "Ready, everyone?" And there is a general cheer of assent. 

And then Jake is reaching for his hand, and he's too fucking delirious with relief to feel guilty, at least for a second. 

He squeezes, once, and Dirk squeezes back.

**Author's Note:**

> [Amazing art by meruz on Tumblr](http://meruz.tumblr.com/post/144405587481)
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [@landofsomethingsomething](http://landofsomethingsomething.tumblr.com)!


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